


The New Super

by gr8escap



Series: Happy Steve Rogers - [Bingo] [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, maybe just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-04 21:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap
Summary: Steve Rogers is trying to get comfortable in his almost affordable apartment and the New Superintendent of the building is a cruel distraction.





	The New Super

Steve wanted to like the new building superintendent, he really did. After all, who would choose to dislike somebody they might need to call in the middle of the night for a clogged toilet? Even worse, who would want that person to dislike them? Apparently these things could get rough for Steve in the future, since the guy definitely made a shitty first and second impression.

He always gave people the benefit of the doubt. After all, he had too much on his plate professionally to make enemies out of people on the street. Maybe he had been in a bad mood that day when the super slammed the building door in his face, leaving him to stand there with his arms loaded with gear and groceries. Maybe the super had been in a bad mood, too. Maybe. But that didn’t excuse the day Steve was helping Irma with the door to her apartment — the latch kept sticking — and he was threatened with a fine for ‘tampering with the property’.

No, that guy was just a miserable — Steve rolled his eyes and turned away from the window. It wouldn’t do for him to waste his time watching the man if all that would come of it was to boil his blood like this every time he saw him. He needed to squash the urge to flip the guy off behind his back whenever he spotted him. Where did that juvenile desire even stem from? This guy was not going to make him that kind of person.

At a loss for how to handle things, Steve paced from the window to the sofa and back as he considered his options. He loved his almost-affordable apartment that managed to be close enough to the old neighborhood. To that effect, he was trying to be a decent guy. He’d started making a habit of things like trying to be the first to say ‘hello’ if they crossed paths in the hallway. He didn’t want to be considered the kind of jerk he found himself feeling like. He tried to recall the ‘talks’ his mother would have with him when he would come home bruised or bloodied. Not that she’d ever wanted him to back down from a righteous fight. But she had things to say about the kind of man he should aspire to be. He thought he’d done an okay job of that. He could take Stark with a grain of salt for the most part, without wanting to deck him. But Stark’s personality was part chaos anyway. This guy didn’t even seem to have a personality.

You’re not being fair, Steven. He could almost hear his mother’s scolding and she’d be right. He wasn’t.

Steve pulled the curtain back again and watched the grim-faced super hard at work in the narrow side-yard. He did the job; that should be considered the opposite of a flaw, right? He wasn’t hard on the eyes either, but he didn’t exactly exude pleasantness.

He didn’t know what made him do it, but Steve released the curtain and headed out of the room, down the stairs, and into the yard. He stepped off the stoop into the sun with a half-wave to the man. “Nice day out,” Steve said. A lame attempt at being polite. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Very funny,” the guy snapped.

“Which part?” Steve drew upon the experiences he’d had with Stark to keep from snapping back. There were perks to working so closely with somebody who tested your patience regularly.

“You’re a comedian in your off-hours? That’s good to know,” The man grumbled, making marks on the length of wood he was measuring. “I hope your stage act is better than this.”

“Wow, listen. I thought I’d do the friendly thing and offer to help. Next time, if I’m interfering, just say so.” Steve pivoted on the step ready to head back into the building. He hesitated with a foot hovering over the threshold. His retreat would just make him a prisoner in his own building until Mr. Pleasant was done in the yard. “Shit,” Steve cursed to himself.

Before he could change his mind again, he turned back to see the man watching him. His piercing blue eyes were surveying Steve, judging him.

“You any good with wood?”

“I —” A number of inappropriate responses went through Steve’s mind and were dismissed. A shame too, because they were quite amusing. Laughing now would be inconsiderate. “I can chop and split logs. I used a hacksaw in the army a time or two. I know how to light a fire. I doubt any of that will help. But, I can give it a shot. What’d you need?”

“I need to trim these for the new door frame in Mrs. Seidel’s entry. I could get it done quicker with an extra hand.”

“Now, how come you can say that but I get called out?”

“Because only the guy with one hand can make cracks about it.” The response was gruff and dismissive, without a hint of humor.

It was only then that Steve noticed that the man’s left arm was — in fact — a prosthesis. “Well, shit. I can’t be called out for that if I didn’t know.”

They exchanged uncertain expressions until Steve looked away to see that there were power tools set up and waiting. He didn’t know what to expect when he moved to take an end of the length of wood and was showed up by Barnes hoisting the thing up and sliding it against the saw guides. The man had elegant movements and made the task look like a choreographed stunt.

Steve shook away the blatant appreciation just in time for Barnes to turn to him.

“Math? Or power tools?”

“Point me where you need me.”

“Either way I have to trust you, I guess. Here’s my cut list. Can you mark the rest of these?”

It bothered him, having his trustworthiness questioned, but Steve gave it as little thought as possible and stepped up to measure and mark the remaining lumber. They worked silently on the door frame components, with only the buzzing saw and the noises of the city between them..

Steve was awed by the super’s knowledge of tools and woodworking. Maybe, like a jackass, he was also impressed with the fact that he did it all so skillfully one-handed. Steve checked his features as his face grew hot with the memory of being watched as he tried to do ordinary things. He returned his attention to the piece he’d been sanding. It didn’t escape him that the jobs he’d been delegated were not more than busy-work. At least his knowledge of woodworking extended to understanding that even these tasks were important.

When the task was done, Steve let himself back into his apartment, relieved that Irma had a safe way in and out of her apartment now. He sat on the edge of the chair to take his shoes off and set them out of the walkway. Steve sat back heavily and deeply into the arm-chair next to the paned front window with a sigh. Helping Superintendent Barnes — he still didn’t know the guy’s first name — might have been a mistake. The man appeared to hate help and clearly saw kindness as an affront to his abilities.

Being unfair to others again? Fine. It was true, Steve had no idea what it was like to lose a limb, and he himself was a pro at being prideful. That was a hard habit to break.

He really did try to help, and to be friendly. Whether he’d been successful at either, he didn’t have a clue.

Helpful, maybe, somewhat. After all, the door frame was now installed, looking nice and neat in Irma’s entry and the door no longer stuck, opening and closing smoothly and firmly. Friendly? He never thought he had trouble making friends, even if he had just a few close ones, but this hadn’t ended in a friendly manner. Steve threw a leg over the arm of the chair and slouched deeper. He’d barely gotten a shrug of thanks as he was dismissed from helping clean up.

Closing his eyes, Steve listened to the sounds of said cleanup in the yard below. He could practically see each determined movement. Maybe he’d spent too much time watching, convincing himself that he’d been looking for an opening to be of assistance. He knew that was only partly true. The man had a nice build that he chose to highlight by taking his hoodie off and exposing a tank-top stretched over a sculpted chest and baring arms — well the one arm was thickly muscled, tan, and smooth; the other was an artistic and technological delight. The lightweight metal appendage was fancier than Tony’s sleekest Iron Man suit. Steve wanted more time to admire the assistive device. It was —

“Dumb ass. You’ve gotta stop thinking about the man.” Steve reprimanded himself aloud. “Maybe I should start looking for a new place.”

That was another stupid idea. He didn’t run from difficulties. Give the guy his space, don’t take it personally, and for God’s sake, stop thinking you’re the reason he acts like a jerk.

< — >

Not dissuaded by what he considered a failed attempt the day before, Steve was determined to ‘play nice’. He pulled the building’s front door open as the super approached the stoop, his arms loaded with grocery bags.

Refusing to let the man’s frown and lack of gratitude affect his run, Steve tossed a professional smile his way and was halfway to the front sidewalk before he heard the crash and an angry, exhausted, “Fuck me.” He turned to see Superintendent Barnes just inside the building, crouched over a growing puddle of red.

Was it blood? Sauce? Steve didn’t wait to find out, sprinting up the stairs and back into the building.

“Leave me.” He heard as he approached, blocking the light from penetrating the hallway.

“Stop already,” Steve said gently. “Are you hurt?”

Steve stepped back as the man collapsed heavily onto his ass on the floor just out of reach of the glass and spreading concoction of sauces.

“No.”

Steve was sure this was the first word uttered by the super that wasn’t issued as a challenge. He looked around before he remembered the utility closet toward the end of the hallway. “You got the key to the cleaning supplies?”

“I’ll take —”

Steve interrupted by sticking his hand out, palm up, expectantly. He closed his fingers over the single key, attached to a quick-release ring when it was placed on his palm. The closet was well stocked and incredibly well organized. He found everything within seconds. He had much of the mess cleaned up in just minutes. He didn’t look at the super — who hadn’t moved since landing on the cool penny-tile floor — until he’d wiped up the last of what he’d discovered was marinara sauce.

He held out a hand to help the man up. His offer was nearly rescinded before it was accepted, prompting Steve to finally say something.

“I don’t know if you’ve figured me out yet, Supe,” Steve said as he surveyed the man for injuries as he pulled him up from the floor. “But I tend to help out when I see help can be given. Please don’t be offended by something my Ma ingrained in me a long time ago. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What did you call me?”

“Supe.” Steve tried and failed to stifle the smirk.

“Hate it. Call me Bucky.” Bucky wiped his hand on his jeans before offering it for a good-mannered handshake.

“Bucky,” Steve accepted the offer. “I’m Steve. Of course you already knew that, being in charge here.”

It was Steve’s habit to only refer to his professional persona if the person he was talking to did so first. He enjoyed the few and random occasions he could maintain a shred of anonymity. If that was what one could call the fleeting moments before he became recognized.

“Yeah, got a file on you.”

Steve couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a fact, but the idea of it leaning toward the humorous intrigued him.

“Whatever this was, it’s a shame it wound up on the floor. It smelled delicious.”

“It was just — it was nothing. Thanks for helping, I don’t want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

Now, sometimes, that was code for ‘stick around - I want company but don’t want to bother you.’ Other times it was the exact opposite. More of an ‘I’m done and I’m inviting you to leave now.’

Steve could usually tell one from the other with ease. He was pretty sure he’d just been dismissed.

“Any time,” Steve answered. He was curious what Bucky had been about to say, the sauce was ‘just’ what? But he knew it wasn’t his place to pry.

Not that he didn’t end up second-guessing his decisions halfway through his run.

  
< — >

Steve was surprised to find the super — Bucky — behind the door when he answered the knock. His stomach did a flippy-droopy thing and he found himself wondering what he’d done wrong, this time.

“Hi. I hope I’m not bothering you.” The quiet words came out sounding soft.

“No — no not at all — come in.” Steve was not only raised to be a good neighbor but an exemplary host. Steve stepped aside to let Bucky through the doorway. “I hope the music wasn’t too loud. I was in the other room.” Cliche or not, the haunting strains of Duke Ellington’s Solitude serenaded the duo as Bucky stood quietly near the still open door with a jar tied with a ribbon held protectively in both hands.

“No, it’s fine.” Bucky held the jar a few inches from his body, still protecting it with a secure hold. Steve presumed he was offering the bottle. “I wanted to thank you for this afternoon. And for the other day. You’ve been too kind to a moody, grumpy, old —”

“Maybe you are,” Steve said with a smile taking the offering, a jar with a brown craft label with ‘Becca’s Marinara’ hand-printed on it. “But I wasn’t. Not too kind at all.” Steve was honest even at his own peril — give or take a handful of recruitment offices in a previous century.

“Had a lot of bad thoughts about me, did ya?”

Bucky seemed to be warming up and Steve was too, heat flooded his cheeks and up into his ears with the bad thoughts he’d been trying not to entertain. How the hell was he going to answer that? Did he have to?

“You wish.” Steve wasn’t sure what was happening to him or with Bucky. Suddenly he’s — they’re flirting? Is it possible that somebody else was as bad at it as Steve was?

“I wouldn’t blame you, if you had. I have been horribly self centered of late. That is no excuse, I just —”

With this being the most conversation he’d ever witnessed, practically a monologue for Bucky, at least to Steve’s knowledge, and Steve was hooked. He wanted to listen to Bucky talk all day. “Come in, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

“I guess I could use — you have any beer?”

“Of course I have.” Steve turned toward the kitchen, with the jar in hand. “Is this what we cleaned up earlier?”

“Yeah, I wrung it out of the mop and put it in a new jar.” Snark oozed off from every word, but Steve found he was amused by it.

“Good, never was fond of waste, especially food waste. I’m sure you realize that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Yeah, after a good cry over split sauce, I picked myself up and headed back across the city to my sister’s place for more. She’s none too happy with me for dipping into her Farmers Market stash.”

“Maybe you should take this then, I don’t want to —”

Bucky pushed the offered jar back toward Steve. “Don’t even say it. We both get some, and she’s got me on kitchen duty Thursday night to make sure she’s not short for the weekend.”

“If it’s as good as it smelled,” Steve said. “I’ll be first in line to make good. You up for some pasta? I can manage that, since you’ve taken care of the difficult business.”

He didn’t expect Bucky to accept the invitation, but he handed him a beer and started pulling out the pot.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. Steve wondered what was beneath the emotional turmoil that seemed to curtail his personality. “I could eat.”

“Good, if you’d like, you can change the music. I’m probably coming across as an old grandpa.”

“I don’t mind it, actually. Reminds me of family dinners at Bubbe’s.”

“Bubbe, huh? But I’m not an old grandpa?”

He watched with delight as Bucky’s face opened up with a big, crooked smile and the delightful music of his laughter.

< — >

Steve rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. He was met by the crystalline blue of Bucky’s gaze.

“What?”

“What ‘what’? You think you’re the only one who can stare?” Bucky asked pointedly.

“I. Don’t. Stare.” Steve poked his finger into Bucky’s chest with each word.

“Liar.”

Steve liked the way the word fell from Bucky’s lips while he struggled to keep a smile at bay.

“I don’t. I observe.” Steve barely got his comment out before Bucky pushed him over and loomed over him, his hair curtaining both of their faces.

“Such a smart ass. So, tell me. What have you observed?”

“Well, for one,” Steve laughed in Bucky’s face. “All a guy has to do to get you to blow him, is boil a little pasta and open a beer.”

“I can’t even argue.” Bucky dipped down for a kiss, his hair and lashes tickling Steve’s face.

Steve looped his leg over Bucky’s thighs and flipped them both over, kissing Bucky back with reckless abandon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my sixth HSB square fill. I don't think I'm gonna get my Blackout as I'm a terrible procrastinator, but this has been incredible.


End file.
